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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27805378">Heir of Stars and Shadows</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khione_North/pseuds/Khione_North'>Khione_North</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/quinnntessentially/pseuds/quinnntessentially'>quinnntessentially</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Final Fantasy XIV</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Action/Adventure, Adventure &amp; Romance, Amaurot (Final Fantasy XIV), Amaurotines (Final Fantasy XIV), And Reboot, Ascians (Final Fantasy XIV), Blue and Quinn Do A Thing, Collaboration, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Family, Family Secrets, Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, I blame Eliniel, No betas we die like Ascians, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, Post-Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers, Slow Build, Slow Burn, eventually, there will be smut, will write for coffee</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 16:27:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,411</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27805378</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khione_North/pseuds/Khione_North, https://archiveofourown.org/users/quinnntessentially/pseuds/quinnntessentially</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Throw wide the gates.  Let expanse contract, eon become instant...."  </p><p>Khione has been preparing for this role her entire life.  Every step she has taken has been to carry her to this point, this crossroads, so that she might protect her parents' legacy — so that she might save the Warrior of Light from soul death and fulfil her destiny as the Heir of Stars and Shadows.</p><p>Joining the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, along with an old, familiar face, Khione must journey across time and space and memory to find the answers to an ancient question.  If she happens to get close with a certain red-haired miqo'te, well, that's just icing on the cake.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Azem/Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch, G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Original Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Something is wrong with the Warrior of Light, no matter how hard she tries to hide it. Ever since the final fight against Zenos and Fandaniel, the chaos that was Garlemald, and the cleaving of Azem’s soul from her own, something about Sollielle Ferdillaix has been decidedly <em> off</em>, and the Scions are beginning to notice.</p><p>It started subtly, as such things always do: A forgotten name day here and there; dizziness in the midst of a battle that should otherwise be easy; more fatigue than normal.  Nothing to signal anything dire — at most, the young elezen woman simply needed a vacation.</p><p>A year passed, an uneasy sort of peace reached as Zenos and Fandaniel went to ground and Garlemald closed itself off completely.</p><p>Suddenly, Sollielle is having a harder time remembering even the most basic things, like the name of her fiancé — Aymeric de Borel, Alphinaud kindly reminded her — or how to cast a basic Fire spell.  Just last week, she turned into a dragoon and tried to attack G’raha Tia, believing him to be a member of the Dravanian Horde.</p><p>The Scions have decided it’s time to seek help.</p><p>More specifically, G’raha, ever the fussing, overprotective friend, has decided that the Warrior of Light has something truly, terribly wrong with her.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve told you, G’raha,” Sollielle protests, sticking her tongue out at her friend, “I’m fine!”  She digs her heels in as the miqo’te tries to drag her to see Krile, stubborn as a mule.  That much, at least, hasn’t changed.</p><p>“Sollielle, my dear friend, you nearly killed me last week,” G’raha sighs for the fifth time in as many minutes.  With surprising strength, he manages to dislodge the Warrior from the door frame she’s desperately holding onto — there’s a metaphor in there, somewhere.  Something, something, denial.</p><p>Sollielle grumbles at the back of G’raha’s head, but dutifully follows him to Krile’s office, and even has the good sense to look downright humble when G’raha knocks on the large oak door.</p><p>“Come in!” Krile calls from inside.  G’raha smells two people on the other side of the door — Krile, with her scent of fresh linen and mint, and Y’shtola, all cloves and coriander and old parchment.  Good, that saves him a trip.</p><p>“I hope we’re not interrupting anything,” G’raha chuckles, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly, “but I’d like you to take a look at our dear friend’s aether.  Y’shtola, too, if that isn’t too much trouble.”</p><p>Krile frowns and nods, beckoning them into the spacious office.  G’raha can already feel Y’shtola’s unseeing, all-seeing eyes upon them.  The pensive hum she gives is confirmation enough.</p><p>“Krile,” the elder miqo’te says, narrowing her eyes at Sollielle, “are you seeing what I’m seeing?”</p><p>Krile is silent for a number of long, tense minutes, her frown deepening.</p><p>“Her soul…. It’s...fractured,” the lalafell finally murmurs.  Her tone sets G’raha even more on edge, and he feels Sollielle tense beside him.</p><p>“F-fractured?” the Warrior of Light whimpers.  She leans heavily against a nearby bookcase.  “What do you mean ‘fractured’?”</p><p>Krile and Y’shtola, however, ignore her in favour of turning to talk between themselves in hushed tones and worried sideways glances.</p><p>It’s another few minutes before they turn back to face G’raha and Sollielle, and Y’shtola’s face says it all: Whatever she and Krile have seen in Sollielle’s soul, it’s not good.</p><p>Krile, at least, has the decency to attempt a comforting smile, but G’raha has known the Hearer for a number of years, and he can see the worried glint in her kind eyes.</p><p>“I think it best if we go pay a visit to Master Matoya,” she finally says, hopping down from her chair.  Oh, G’raha <em> really </em> does not like the sound of that.</p><p>Nonetheless, he steels his nerves and follows Krile to the Aetheryte Plaza, unaware of the young woman watching the four Scions from one of Revenant’s Toll’s many balconies.</p><p> </p><p>The tea here is passable, Khione thinks, but she’s had better.  The water is lukewarm and tastes just a little too much like ambient aether, while the tea leaves are perhaps a tad less-than fresh.  In the end, though, caffeine is caffeine, and given the fact that no one here seems to be able to make a decent cup of coffee, Khione supposes she must settle for this vague approximation of tea.  She’s more focused on watching the Warrior of Light and three of the Scions disappearing into the flow of aether, anyways.  All according to plan.  </p><p> </p><p>Stretching mightily with a dancer’s elegant grace, and a paradoxically tiny kitten yawn, Khione settles herself in the early autumn sun, wondering what in the name of the Star she’s going to do with herself for the next day or so while she waits for them to return.  Even with aetheryte and teleportation, the Warrior of Light is in no state to go all the way to Dravania and back in a single day.  Perhaps a bit of shopping is in order — she can’t very well meet her destiny looking like a dust-covered ragamuffin, and her long blue skirt has definitely seen better days.  A lady always needs to look presentable when making new friends.</p><p> </p><p>With a sigh, Khione finishes her “tea” and stands, gathering her small, enchanted bag, and her dark metal staff, and steps through a portal of pale mist, as though she was never even there.  So much to do, and so very little time.</p><p> </p><p>Idyllshire is much the same as it was the last time Krile dragged him with her to visit old Master Matoya.  The short chocobo flight to the bent hag’s cave is also as unpleasant as G’raha remembers, but blessedly short, and he’s grateful when they land in front of the rose bushes instead of <em> in </em> the rosebushes this time.</p><p>The four Scions enter the cave, and even Y’shtola is doing her best to look a little sheepish.  Master Matoya does not take kindly to being disturbed.</p><p>True to form, the old witch is in a Mood.</p><p>“How many times do I need to tell you lot,” Matoya grumps from her table, “that it’s downright <em> rude </em> to interrupt an old woman’s peaceful morning unannounced?  I suppose I should just be thankful that you didn’t bring either of Louisoix’s grandchildren — always talking too much and thinking too little, those two.”</p><p>Y’shtola’s lips curl into an amused smile for a moment.  “Tis good to see you in such fine spirits, Master Matoya,” the miqo’te chuckles before her face returns to solemn pensiveness.  “Unfortunately, we’ve not come for a social visit, I’m sure you’ll be saddened to hear.”</p><p>“Oh?  Well, come then, you four.  Sit, sit.  Let’s hear what problem you have for me to solve this time.”</p><p>G’raha doesn’t need to be told twice, especially not when matters are so urgent, and so he plonks himself down on one of Matoya’s uncomfortably hard chairs with a grimace.</p><p>“Master Matoya, we believe there might be something wrong with Sollielle’s soul,” Y’shtola says, gesturing softly to the Warrior.</p><p>Matoya raises a brow, but nods, her grizzled face set in a mask of focus and searching.  Every so often, she hums and grumbles under her breath, and it’s less than encouraging to G’raha.  He knows someone trying to figure out the best way to break bad news when he sees it.</p><p>Finally, she sits back, steepling her fingers with elbows braced on the table.  “Well, you’d have the right of it.”</p><p>The words, although expected, send G’raha’s blood running cold at the thought that something is really, truly wrong with his friend.</p><p>Matoya continues, her frown deepening exponentially.  “Your soul has been through great trauma over the past few years, has it not?” she regards Sollielle with open curiosity and a wisened healer’s tone.</p><p>“It-it has, yes,” the elezen stammers, fidgeting in her seat.  “I had to hold all of that primordial Light on the First, and then last year….” She trails off, her face crumpling.  “I…. The memory is fuzzy.”  The way the Warrior of Light looks to Krile and Y’shtola and G’raha is heartbreaking.  Lost.</p><p>“Azem’s soul was cleaved from Sollielle’s — In the middle of a battle against Zenos and Fandaniel, Sollielle just went <em> down </em>,” G’raha supplies.  His ears flatten against his head and his tail swishes nervously while he fiddles with the gold necklace he wears.  “And when she finally came to, her soul was...different.  Paler.  Weaker.  I mean, she still has Hydaelyn’s blessing, but it’s diminished without the shards of Azem’s soul to bolster it.”</p><p>Matoya nods, listening intently.  “Mhm…. That would certainly do it.  I can’t say I’ve ever heard of such a thing happening, but then again, our friend here is a rather curious case with a rather curious soul. Without the shards of the Ancient’s soul that once resided within her own, dear Sollielle is more vulnerable to corruption and aetherical decay.”</p><p>“What can be done about it, Master Matoya?” Krile pipes up, standing on her chair to be seen over the top of the table.  “Surely there’s a way to fix this?”</p><p>Matoya gives a long, weary sigh, and shakes her head solemnly.  “I’m afraid there’s no way to stop this without the aid of the Ancients — all of whom, I should remind you, are dead by your hands.  It was the cleaving of an Ancient’s soul from Sollielle’s own that caused this fracturing, and it’s an Ancient’s power combined with that of The Mother that will fix it.  The best you all can do is slow the progression as best as possible for as long as possible.”</p><p>Sollielle lets out a small whimpering noise, while Krile stares dully at a dark spot on the table, and Y’shtola chews on her thumbnail in thought.  G’raha slips into the cold, distant role of the Exarch, turning to Matoya with his mouth set in a grim line.</p><p>“How do we halt the progression?” he asks, tone even and calculated.</p><p>Matoya huffs an amused grunt, a bitter smile twitching at the corners of her mouth.  “This is where your luck picks up at the very least,” she begins.  “Rowena, in Revenant’s Toll, just so happens to sell a particular plant that grows only in Mor Dhona, and has potent soul-healing properties.  I recommend mixing it with mint and sugar in order to make it palatable.”</p><p>They all sit and blink at Matoya for a moment, slightly bewildered.  </p><p>“That’s it?” Sollielle murmurs, trembling like a leaf.  “My only hope of living long enough to find an actual cure is just <em> a plant </em>?”</p><p>“Oh, don’t be ungrateful with me, girl, just because you’re scared,” Matoya scolds, hitting the floor with the butt of her cane.</p><p>Sollielle shrinks away, clearly fighting tears.  “What in the world am I going to tell Aymeric?  What about my dad?”</p><p>Krile reaches over to the elezen, gently rubbing her back.  “We’ll tell them the truth: that you’re sick, but that we’re going to find a way to fix this.”</p><p>The words are laced with hollow promises, a fool’s errand, but one that G’raha knows he and the Scions are willing to make.  He owes it to Sollielle, to his best friend.</p><p>Y’shtola is the first to rise, giving her teacher a small bow.  “Thank you, Master Matoya, for your time.”</p><p>Krile, Sollielle, and G’raha stand to join her, each bowing in turn.</p><p>“I wish you all the best of luck,” Matoya grunts.  “Twelve know that you’re going to need it.”</p><p> </p><p>They spend the night in Idyllshire, and return to Revenant’s Toll in sombre silence, greeting the other Scions with grim faces and grimmer tidings, especially when Sollielle has her worst confusion and fainting spell yet. </p><p> </p><p>Khione sits in a corner of the Seventh Heaven tavern the next day, watching the Scions come and go.  They all look like they’re preparing for a funeral, which, in fairness, they probably believe they are.  If only they knew the journey ahead….</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello, and welcome to our grand adventure!  Quinn and I (Blue) are proud to present "Heir of Stars and Shadows," and we're SO excited to share this with you, dear reader!  Thank you for reading!</p><p>Shout out to all of the lovely people <a href="https://discord.gg/enabling-debauched-xivfic">Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched and Enabling Book Club</a> for their enthusiastic support and encouragement!  Come check it out if you want more awesome FFXIV fic, or are interested in writing FFXIV fic!</p><p>We're hard at work on the next few chapters, so stay tuned, y'all :)</p><p>As always, if you have any questions, comments, concerns, thoughts, recipes, or if you just want to talk, feel free to leave a comment here, or send a DM!</p><p>Much love,<br/>Blue</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It is commonly accepted that once one dies, they stay that way. It was just this one person’s luck that such was not the case this time. In this instance, Hades who had previously been known to the modern world as Solus zos Galvus, or Emet-Selch, is that person. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hades is fond of his naps. This is no secret to any that knew him before or after the Sundering. He enjoys the peace and quiet; the lack of unnecessary noise.  His perpetual slumber was, of course, disturbed much like any amount of rest he had attempted to gain during his time serving Zodiark.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Which brings him here. In front of the doors of the inn that holds the meeting place of Scions: the Rising Stones. He’s hesitant to enter. Of course he is. This building houses the very soul that sent him to what was </span>
  <em>
    <span>supposed </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be his eternal rest. Anyone would be nervous encountering the person that killed them once more. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yet, he steels his nerves and knocks with a tight fist.  Flesh against wood creates a dull thud that leads to silence for an uncomfortably long period of time, until finally, the door creaks open and a small Lalafellian woman peers out. Golden eyes meet violet as she tries and fails to recognize him. Eventually, she speaks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“May I help you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I believe it is </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> that might help </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  I’ve been informed that your dear Warrior of Light has become quite… ill, so to speak.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tataru measures his words, searching his face for deceit. “And how did you become privy to such information?” Now she squints at him, examining him further. “Who are you? I don’t believe I know your face.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you’d let me in with a modicum of hospitality, perhaps I could explain myself.  However, in the back doorway of a busy inn is not the best place for such conversation.” His statement is pointed, he tires of the suspicion that he knows has only just begun. Dealing with these people was tiresome before, he imagines it will only be worse </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span> given their history</span>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The woman gives a curt nod before swinging the door open enough for him to step though. He can feel her gaze fixated on him as he makes his first steps into their headquarters. It's a humble place, large enough to serve their purposes but he can tell that no one except for the staff really spends much time here.  The tables and chairs are all simple in design, function over form, made of a hardwood.  His guide leads him just a bit beyond the entrance and he already sees faces he recognizes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Caught up in conversation, or really an argument, the young twins he met on the First animatedly interact with each other. He does his best not to call attention to himself, knowing the girl would most likely react impulsively if she were to recognize him.  His form as Solus is close enough to his true one he wears now that the possibility is high. He can only hope that his long, white hair is enough of a disguise in the short-term until he can explain himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As seems to be the current standard, his luck does not hold out, and of course it is the female twin, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Alisaie?</span>
  </em>
  <span>, that spies him first. Groaning internally, he attempts to ignore her noise of disbelief, forces his eyes to continue to face forward but all is in vain. Stomping her way over, he feels a tug on his sleeve twisting him to face her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew </span>
  </em>
  <span>I recognized that beaky nose and smug face. How dare you show your face here? How can you show your face here? Sollielle punched a hole right through you and you dissipated into light!  You died!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Perhaps you need your eyes checked, as I stand before you now.” He can’t stop himself from evading the question. Her attitude always rubs him the wrong way, and while he knows she’s right, by all means he should not be here, he does not care for the notion of having to explain himself more than once. Her grip on his robe does not loosen, though, instead anchoring him to the spot, while her other hand is pulled back ready to strike.  Bracing himself for the inevitable, he stares her down but to his surprise, her twin grasps her wrist before she can release the tension building in her muscles. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alisaie, perhaps we should use our words before acting rashly,” he chides her, still firmly holding her back. He opens to speak once more, but is this time interrupted by a door opening revealing the rest of the Scions he had met on the first. The bullheaded, white-haired man is the first to speak.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What in the seven hells is going on—you! What are you doing here?” Thancred turns to face Hades after noticing the unfamiliar presence in the room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You lot are utterly predictable. You realize that, right? I </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew </span>
  </em>
  <span>that this would be frustrating at best and you’ve all proven me correct once again.” He sighs, leaning his head forward to pinch the bridge of his nose with his free hand. “If you’d just calm down for one second, I can explain.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thancred snarls in response. “Your appearance has strange timing considering Sollielle’s present state, don’t you think? I’m sure you’ve had a hand in it and you suggest we should trust you for even that long? ” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you truly care for your vaunted hero, then yes.” The pushback is trying his patience. If they simply took the time to listen instead of react, he’d be that much closer to his ability to finally, </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally</span>
  </em>
  <span> be at peace and perhaps they’d be that much closer to having a full-health hero to rely on once again. His statement seems to shock them into silence at least.  The grip on his sleeve has slackened and the twins take a step back but soon he feels a tug on the other one. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It seems everyone but me knows who you are. Could you at the very least introduce yourself for me?”  His attention turns to the small woman who had answered the door when he arrived. He considers her before acquiescing to her request.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’d hate to be rude like our present company.” Out of the corner of his eye he sees Alisaie open her mouth to protest but is promptly silenced by her brother stomping on her foot. He flourishes a gaudy bow as he speaks.  “So, I’ll do as you ask. I am Hades, previously known as Emet-Selch, Ascian.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If the woman has heard about him from her comrades, she doesn’t react immediately, and instead reaches out a hand, “Tataru, assistant extraordinaire.” He accepts the offer and shakes her much smaller hand.  She gives him a slight smile before continuing. “I’ve heard about you and your kind before and this isn’t the first time one of you has been present in our home. I believe, based on past experience, we have every right to be wary of such a thing occurring again.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He watches her mannerisms with care, weighing her words. As he does so, the woman miqo’te speaks.  “Tataru is right. We would hear your reasons for coming under such mysterious and suspicious circumstances.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He turns to address the rest of the group, he is startled a bit at seeing the Exarch on the Source once more, especially in what appears to be a completely flesh and bone form in addition to one much younger. Pushing that thought to the side though, he considers his words before starting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your Goddess, as your people tend to refer to her as, has deemed it fit to restore me to the land of the living. It seems we’ve struck a bargain, she and I. In exchange for my expertise on souls, I may be once more reunited with those I love in the lifestream.  However, this all hinges on if I can properly assist in bringing the warrior, Solleille, back to full health.” He pauses briefly, surveying their varied reactions ranging from complete disbelief to guarded interest to hope. “As such, you find me coming to you now extending a hand in friendship once more.  Perhaps we can truly work together this time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thancred is the first to break the long silence after his short speech. Anger is clear in his voice. “You expect us to believe that? Not very creative are you, essentially extending the same offer as you did on the First. Oh, we can work together. Perhaps we can find common ground.” Hades clenches a fist at the mocking tone of the Hyur man. “We tried that once, and look at how it turned out. For both us and you. You’re supposed to be dead, and we have a dear friend gravely injured.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Trust me, if I had my choice, I wouldn’t have come. I wouldn’t even be here on the Source.  Do not mistake this offer as eagerness to become fast friends.  I’ve been given a job and I will see it through for my reward.  Besides, I do not think one such as you has any abilities that can truly help your friend now, do you? Helpless without your brute strength, aren’t you?”  Hades can tell he’s struck a nerve. The man does a poor job of hiding his emotions. His scowl is deep; his fists are clenched. If the man had his weapon strapped to his back, Hades is sure he would have a blade at his throat at this point.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Enough.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His head turns to the red-headed miqo’te. He who had once been Exarch, a leader of people, legendary in his own right now reduced to mere man.  Staring into crimson eyes, he stops. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I believe him.” Hades quirks an eyebrow, but the man continues, “That’s not to say I trust him. We should absolutely keep an eye on him, but he knows more regarding Solleille’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>issues </span>
  </em>
  <span>than we’ve told anyone who’s not part of the Scions. He mentioned her soul, not us.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“G’raha makes a good point. Twould be unwise to ignore help bestowed upon us by Hydaelyn, especially as his knowledge is evidence that he speaks truth.”  This time the tall one, the elezen astrologian speaks. Hades is surprised that not one but two of them have spoken in his defense, no matter their lack of trust. He hears the others grudgingly make noises of agreement. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So we’re in agreement then? We can stop almost coming to blows now?” Y’shtola queries the group who each give affirmation, some more willingly than others. “Good. You were upsetting my peaceful afternoon.  I’m going back to my tea.  G’raha, since you spoke in defense of him first, I say you’re on first shift of guard duty.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Exarch, no, G’raha’s ears flatten to his head a bit at being called out, but he quickly recovers. “Of course, I’d be happy to.”  His face betraying that, no, he absolutely would not be happy to do so, but he will as is his duty. Hades cannot be so easily fooled by eager words. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Soon, it is just the former Ascian standing beside the former Exarch in the main room of the Rising Stones, the rest of the Scions vacating the space. Hades turns to the much shorter man, “I suppose we should start then. Lead the way.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As they walk, he thinks of his last conversation with the light primal, Hydaelyn. Of the bargain he has been made a part of. Yes, he told the Scions it was he who agreed, but truthfully, he’s a pawn in a much larger game, the moves planned out by a soul much brighter than his long, long, </span>
  <em>
    <span>long</span>
  </em>
  <span> ago. Lost in a memory, he daydreams.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>At the time, all he could sense was darkness. It felt like the longest nap, and the loneliest, and much like most naps of his, it was interrupted. Soon, his black world erupted into white light and </span>
  <em>
    <span>She</span>
  </em>
  <span> appeared. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Hear. Feel. Think.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He knows those wretched words. Those repeated to </span>
  <em>
    <span>Her</span>
  </em>
  <span> chosen. Displeasure floods through him, what could </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> do for the beloved Goddess of Light? Soon, though, his vision clears and he can see a woman before him. He does nothing to hide his feelings towards Her, freely allowing the scowl to form on his face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Dear child, a time for second chances has come. Though you have strayed from the light, another has seen fit to help you right your wrongs.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This confuses him. None that he has associated recently who are aligned with this primal would even consider doing such a thing for him. He knows for a fact that neither of the other Unsundered could have struck such a deal. Before he can ask, She answers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Long ago, a weary soul reached out to me, tired of running from her fate. Her name, Melinoia, also called Azem. If you were to fail in your duties to your beloved Zodiark, I would allow you a chance to atone for your actions. The time is now. The world has need of you yet, Architect. In exchange for your help, I will allow you to enter the Lifestream. If you fully succeed? You will be reunited with your dear one, Melinoia, She who risked such a bargain to save you, among others. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, he speaks in Her presence, “What could I do that You cannot, </span>
  <em>
    <span>dear goddess</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He sneers the title out. He may not be tied to Zodiark anymore, but a distrust of primals is not so easily undone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You must save the Warrior of Light. Her soul is decaying. Corrupted and torn. Fragmented. Damaged by Light and the loss of the Wanderer’s shards. No longer strengthened by that of Azem’s, she will not survive.  You must find the cure. You must ensure she protects the world from the final threat Zodiark has orchestrated.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You say this as if it's simple. As if one can so easily repair a soul and defeat one such as You.  You ask too much!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Infuriating him, She smiles. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Your path is long and you may feel lost, Architect. Snow-touched spirits will guide you home…. To the truth. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She reaches out to him and taps his chest, right over his heart. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Go, do what you must, and you will be rewarded.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Soon, he feels a heavy weight in his chest, and before he can protest further, darkness claims him and he is whisked back to the Source. There is no time to spare. There is much to be done. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A day or so later, Khione suns herself on a bench outside the Seventh Heaven — truly, this whole not being able to enter the Rising Stones just yet thing is getting tedious, and she’s at risk of getting sunburnt after days of sitting and watching and waiting for the right moment — and listens to the goings on of the city around her. Children laughing and shrieking as they run about, merchants rolling through with their carts full of goods, adventurers seeking guts and glory…the sounds of life are everywhere and nowhere for the silver-eyed young woman staring up at the bridges above her, her hands folded and laced just below her rib cage.  She seems to be watching...something...but frankly, there’s nothing except stone and sky to watch. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>G’raha stops for a moment to admire hints of pale thighs revealed between the hem of a short ink blue skirt and the tops of matching leather thigh-high boots. He’s been so in a tizzy the past few days that it’s only just occurred to him to stop and </span>
  <em>
    <span>breathe</span>
  </em>
  <span>. This woman, dressed all in dark blue and antique gold, is a welcome respite for a brief moment. Scarlet eyes travel upwards, trying not to stare too long at generous breasts hidden beneath a high, tight neckline; before they continue their path up to take in a striking face with sharp, birdlike features and large silver eyes like stars, framed by long, wavy midnight blue curls.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Silver meets scarlet for a fleeting second, and the young woman gives him a rather pretty smile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Raha!  Come on!” Krile calls from the doorway. With a sigh and a disappointed sway of his tail, G’raha scurries over, leaving the blue woman to her thoughts.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Khione smiles to herself, watching the — admittedly rather handsome — red headed miqo’te follow the Lalafellian Scion in her bright yellow coat until they disappear up the hill in the markets.  She gives herself a minute, then two, then three, and then stands, stretching.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Destiny is calling,” she hums to herself as she straps her staff to her back and hooks her coin purse-sized travelling bag — it’s bigger on the inside — to her belt.  She turns to check her reflection in a window, and, satisfied, makes her way after the pair, just another adventurer preparing for a journey.  “And I must follow.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Quinn here! Welcome to my first contribution to this masterpiece that Blue has graciously brought me into. It's going to be quite a ride and I hope you're enjoying what you've seen so far! </p>
<p>This is only the beginning though and we're very excited to roll out the next few chapters, so please stay tuned &lt;3</p>
<p>Many, many thanks to the <a href="https://discord.gg/enabling-debauched-xivfic">Book Club</a> whom have been nothing but supportive and kind, without which I wouldn't be here working on this collab, let alone writing any fic. If you're like me and enjoy reading fics, finding more fics, want to get into writing fics. Do follow the link and join us! It's a wonderful, wholesome place where I've made many friends.</p>
<p>I love comments so if you have any questions, concerns, thoughts, keyboard smashing, scree-ing, etc please do feel free to leave them here or DM us!</p>
<p>Love you all!</p>
<p>Quinn</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Of course, G’raha is tasked with tracking down Master Matoya’s special soul plant while Krile procures the other ingredients for Sollielle’s tonic; just like, of course, he’s been tasked with the majority of the Ascian Awareness shifts.  He doesn’t even know what the plant is called, let alone where to start looking in this bustling market.  When he agreed to join the Scions, he imagined himself being sent on grand quests, adventures full of danger and excitement, not doing Krile’s grocery shopping.  Certainly, it’s nice to get out of the Rising Stones.  The air in the Scions’ headquarters has been so thick with tension since Eme— Hades showed up, one could fair cut it with a frozen knife.  At the very least, Alisaie has finally stopped drawing her rapier every time Hades enters the room, which is an improvement on a few days prior.  Even Thancred is beginning to relax a tiny bit, although G’raha knows there’s little the gunbreaker doesn’t see, as the Hyur often sits in a corner of the lounge, watching.  Still, G’raha would much rather be fighting morbols than being a glorified errand boy.  This is getting tedious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He catches himself in the midst of his internal grumbling, suddenly feeling a little ashamed for his selfishness.  This isn’t just some fetch-it job; they need this plant if they want a hope in the seven hells of finding a permanent cure for Sollielle’s soul.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“After all she’s done for you, G’raha Tia,” he chides himself, walking at a brusque clip, “you owe it to her to do whatever you can.  She’s one of your dearest friends, besides, and you know she’d do the same for you.  Stop being so impatient, you foolhardy old ma—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>G’raha doesn’t get to finish his thought, however, due to a sudden collision with something decidedly solid yet soft that promptly lets out a startled ‘oop!’ followed by a soft </span>
  <em>
    <span>thud</span>
  </em>
  <span> and the clatter of a metal staff on the cobblestones.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes him longer than he’s willing to admit to process what’s just happened, especially when he sees who, exactly, he’s crashed into in his hurry.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Khione gently rubs at her forehead, the flustered — and perhaps slightly embarrassed — blush painting her cheeks genuine.  She had planned to run into the red-haired miqo’te...just...not </span>
  <em>
    <span>literally</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  She certainly hadn’t planned to end up on the ground with the short front of her skirt flipped up like this for the entire Star to see.  The fact that the miqo’te is incredibly attractive isn’t helping things.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-I, uh, I— I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> sorry,” the miqo’te stammers, reaching down a hand to offer.  Khione finds her mouth wobbling into a shy smile of its own accord, amusement dancing in moon-silver eyes.  The miqo’te’s voice is deep and rumbling, but there’s something honeyed and airy to it as well, and Khione cannot help but wonder how she can find a mere voice quite so...</span>
  <em>
    <span>appealing</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hand is warm when she takes it.  Larger than hers, fair-skinned and covered in freckles and a fine dusting of carmine hair, Khione is downright </span>
  <em>
    <span>sad</span>
  </em>
  <span> when he lets go of her once she’s back on her feet.  Her hand clenches and flexes, suddenly cold, and she has to slip it into the pocket of her long curtain-style skirt to stop herself from reaching out to take the miqo’te’s again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes Khione a moment to realise that she’s staring with her wobbly little smile, and she chuckles, ducking her head slightly.  “There’s no need to apologise,” she finally says, “although I must ask where the fire is, and how I might help you avoid giving anyone else a concussion in your hurry to attend to it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The miqo’te laughs, sheepish, folding his arms behind his head.  “I’m running an errand for a friend, actually, and she tends to scold me if I dawdle or daydream too much.”  His ears flick back to flatten slightly, his tail swishing in idleness.  “You wouldn’t, ah, wouldn’t know where I might find a particular type of plant, would you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another chuckle, and Khione begins to smirk a little.  “Well, I think that might depend on the type of plant you’re looking for.  Is there aught you can tell me to give me a better idea of what you need?”  Silver eyes flecked with bits of brass and gold twinkle with a shy sort of mirth, amused and rather charmed by this endearingly awkward, unfairly handsome man.  Of course, Khione already knows the details of what this man is searching for, and even the details of </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but she can’t exactly tell him as much, can she?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His ears droop along with his shoulders, exasperation and embarrassment colouring his body language.  “I…. Right.  That would be important.”  He stuffs his hand into one of the many pockets on his shin-length charcoal cargo shorts, digging around until he pulls out a folded piece of paper.  He squints at it for a second, then nods.  “Lethe’s Tears,” he reads off before looking back up at Khione with a hopeful expression.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Schooling her features into a look of surprise, Khione tilts her head slightly, and crosses her arms under her breasts, tapping her chin with the nail of her index finger.  “What in the name of The Mother does your friend need Lethe’s Tears for?” she all but gasps, the picture of bewilderment and knowledge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just as intended, the miqo’te’s ears stand to attention along with his tail, hope ignited by this seeming stranger.  “You-you know of it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Khione nods with an encouraging smile, still making sure to look appropriately surprised, but also curious and earnest.  “I do, yes.  I have this...gift.  An affinity with souls and aether — a blessing from The Mother.  It’s why I came here to Revenant’s Toll.  I was told that the Scions of the Seventh Dawn were headquartered here and might have need of someone with my gifts?”  The words are intentional.  The way her stomach flutters a little at the miqo’te’s answering grin is not.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes!  Absolutely!” He brims with enthusiasm, a young man’s excitement in finding adventure in the mundane.  “If you don’t mind helping me find this plant, I can introduce you to the Scions — I happen to be one of them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Khione grins, giving another nod.  “Gladly, uh…. Oh, γαμώ τη πουτάνα μου, I don’t think I caught your name.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If the miqo’te finds her accidental slip into an unknown language odd, he doesn’t show it as he extends a hand, his ears wiggling excitedly.  “G’raha Tia, Scion of the Seventh Dawn.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She takes the offered hand, and gives a little curtsey.  “Khione North.  It’s a pleasure to meet you, G’raha Tia.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>G’raha’s hold on her hand lingers for a few more seconds, both of them smiling shyly at each other before it finally occurs to them both to let go with matchingly sheepish chuckles and fidgeting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, do you have any idea where to start looking for this plant?” G’raha asks, glancing around the bustling market.  “Revenant’s Toll is somewhat known for being a hub of difficult-to-procure items, so any one of these vendors could have it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Khione thinks for a moment and scans the area.  “I think I may have seen a flower seller near the House of Splendors?  They appeared to have some rather interesting-looking plants, so we might as well start there.”  She sets off toward the towering House, loose, wavy curls of gentle midnight swaying behind her.  She huffs a small chuckle when the miqo’te catches up to her in a matter of three long, quickened strides, a secret smirk twitching at the corner of her lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They weave their way through the bustling crowds, eyes of silver and scarlet looking around for any sign of a promising vendor. From the periphery of her sight, Khione catches the pale glittering of a golden cobweb amidst a sea of neutral threads, so slight that it might almost be a trick of the light if she didn’t know any better.  She turns her head, years of practice being the only thing stopping her expression from slipping into genuine surprise and confusion when she realises that it stretches between her and G’raha.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just as she opens her mouth to comment on it, though, the miqo’te turns to grace Khione with another of those friendly, earnest smiles, his tail swaying in shy interest.  His ears wiggle and flicker when he notices her staring back at him, and Khione can’t help but laugh softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is aught amiss?” she chuckles, her voice light and teasing.  G’raha fidgets as they walk, a slight dusting of red painting his cheeks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“N-no, nothing at all,” he splutters.  “I just— It’s not every day that one meets someone with Hydaelyn’s Blessing — someone new, I mean — and especially someone whose gift happens to be relevant to our current dilemma.”  He comes to a stop in front of a leather goods vendor, but his focus remains on Khione, sanguine eyes bright and almost searching, shy, but trying to gather courage.  “And….” G’raha takes a deep breath, suddenly straightening his posture, ears and tail at attention while he fists his hands by his sides.  “I’d like to know more about you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence stretches on for a beat, then two, and then three, and then Khione tips her head back to laugh — a bright, wild, shrieking howl that has her clutching at her abdomen, tears springing from the corners of her eyes.  She calms down for a moment, but has to visibly fight against a giggle-snort when she sees G’raha’s crestfallen expression, her stomach doing strange backflips again.  She reaches out to gently pat him on the shoulder, though she stops herself before she can actually make contact, despite the strength of the urge to let herself feel the lean muscles of his arm, to allow herself a chance at an actual connection with someone else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, there’s no need to look like that,” she snickers, dropping her hand back to her side, where it hangs, awkward and empty. “I was laughing because, well, because I found the statement rather unexpectedly adorable, Your Highness.”  She smirks at him for a brief, eternal moment, until her expression suddenly shifts into something like alarm.  This time, G’raha does not fail to notice her slip of the tongue.  They stare at each other in dumb surprise, and G’raha narrows his eyes at her, tail bristling slightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How-how do you…? That’s not…. That’s not exactly common knowledge.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Khione internally panics, her blood running colder than the ice she commands, G’raha’s confusion and distrust sitting like a weight upon her shoulders.  Going into this, she knew the situation was already precarious, knew that millennia of hard work and planning turned upon her, a lone soul at the crucial axis of a much larger game.  Now, it rests upon her ability to weave her story, to pull the threads of Fate into something believable, to turn this mistake into an accent in the tapestry of this tale.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arms cross over her chest.  Shoulders hunch ever so slightly.  She shrinks away from the miqo’te a little, and raises a hand to rub along her bared shoulder and upper arm, letting out a tiny, nervous huff that barely passes as a chuckle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I, well, I…. I suppose it’s time I come clean,” she sighs, hanging her head before looking back up to give G’raha an apologetic smile.  “When I get nervous about things, I tend to do research.  A lot of research.  I suppose it helps me feel a little less nervous, knowing what I’m potentially getting myself into.”  She frowns, shuffling from foot to foot for added effect, her brows inverting </span>
  <em>
    <span>just so</span>
  </em>
  <span> to look ever-so-slightly pleading.  Already, she can see it working, as G’raha’s demeanour softens just a fraction, a little less on guard, and a little more receptive.  She continues.  “When I made up my mind to come here, to Revenant’s Toll, in search of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, I’ll admit that I was </span>
  <b>wildly</b>
  <span> nervous.  I mean, I’m just a black mage from Ishgard.  I’ve slain dragons, sure, and I’ve seen combat and battle and war, but I could never hope to compare to even the most junior members of your order.  So, to help calm my nerves, I did as much research as I could into each member of the Scions — including you, G’raha Tia.  Running into you as I did was entirely coincidental, but I do know who you are, Son of Allag.”  Truths and lies, lies and truths, they all taste like ancient ash in her mouth as she begins walking again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>G’raha sprints to catch up with her once his mind has caught up with the information she’s given him, and he grabs her by the wrist with careful gentleness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why didn’t you say so to begin with?” he asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Khione takes a deep breath, exhaling with a deeper sigh through the nose.  She smiles, small and shy, and shrugs.  “I know that your order has been through quite a lot, and you’ve no reason to trust a strange woman who says that she’s done research on all of you.  I didn’t want to be turned away before I had a chance to plead my case, I suppose.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>G’raha considers her words for a moment, his vibrant eyes never leaving her face.  Finally, though, his tail swishes, and he nods, the kind smile returning to his face.  “Well, I can understand being nervous, and I can also understand wanting to research things.  You needn’t be afraid, though, and especially if you say that your gift is to do with souls and aether.  We’re, ah, rather in need of someone with such talents.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without another word, they continue walking until they reach the flower vendor sitting in the shadow of Rowena’s House of Splendors, run by a particularly wrinkled old woman and her equally hunched over husband.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The old woman grins, showing off a mouth that’s more blank spaces than teeth, and Khione has to fight a small shiver, especially when G’raha — whether conscious of the action or not — places his hand at the small of her back.  The gesture, she’s sure, is meant to be friendly, but it sets her mind racing.  How long has it been since she’s had any such contact with anyone, let alone someone to whom she finds herself, for once, attracted?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come to buy flowers for your girlfriend?” the old woman hums, turning her grin to G’raha with a little wink.  She gestures to an array of bright bouquets, hyacinths and lilies and roses and all manner of flowers bursting with every colour of the rainbow, then inclines her head to Khione.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Almost immediately, they both leap apart, spluttering and stammering various denials, while the vendor and her husband simply laugh with knowing smirks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” the woman finally huffs, “if you’re not here to buy flowers for your lady friend here, boy, then what are you here for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>G’raha straightens up, rubbing the back of his neck.  His ears wiggle and flicker — an idle, nervous tick, Khione is beginning to realise — and he pulls out the slip of paper given to him earlier by his friend.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was hoping you might have Lethe’s Tears,” he says, his voice even, almost authoritative, assertive.  Khione finds herself somewhat fascinated by the way his demeanour shifts and cycles between boyish insecurities and something older, wiser, more mature.  Focus, Khione, she chides herself.  There will be time for studying him later.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The flower vendor narrows her eyes in thought, humming for a moment before she turns to her husband and orders him off somewhere in hushed tones that Khione can’t quite understand.  The woman returns to grinning at Khione and G’raha, something sharp and clever glinting in her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aye, I have Lethe’s Tears, but it’ll cost you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>G’raha scoffs, but continues to smile pleasantly.  “I assure you that I’m authorised to pay however much is necessary to obtain these flowers.  Name your price.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The vendor barks out a gruesome cackle and shakes her head.  “Oh, no, boy, you mistake me.  I don’t want your money.  Lethe’s Tears are far more valuable than any amount of gil.  Tell me why you need them, and I’ll consi—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The miqo’te hisses, and it strikes Khione that she’s rather surprised by the sudden reaction, even though she certainly shouldn’t be.  She knows how protective this particular Scion is of his dear Warrior of Light, but the look of anger seems entirely out of place on his handsome face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My friend is dying,” he grinds out.  “I don’t have time for these games.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then you’ll not get these flowers from me, sonny boy.  I can’t just give them away to any poor sod with a sob story about a dying friend.”  The old woman scoffs and begins to turn her back on the pair, muttering about young people these days and their lack of respect for honest merchants.  It’s enough to make Khione’s icy veins simmer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>G’raha, however, falters, and Khione groans, rolling her eyes.  She steps in front of her miqo’te companion, clearing her throat.  “G’raha, why don’t you go ahead and let the rest of your order know that you’re bringing a guest. I can handle this,” she says, looking over her shoulder with an encouraging smile.  “I’ve dealt with swindling old ladies like this before.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t wait to see if G’raha obeys.  Keeping the placid, too-pretty smile plastered on her face, Khione allows some of her glamour to slip.  The air around her grows colder, sharper, a sudden midwinter bite filling the early autumn air.  Where the old woman was smirking like the cat that ate the canary only moments before, she now cowers slightly, fear and alarm widening her half-blind eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Lethe’s Tears, if you please,” Khione trills, holding out a pale, delicate hand.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The old woman wordlessly waddles off to dig through a velvet-lined crate, and returns a minute or so later with a full bouquet of silvery blossoms, placing them gently in Khione’s outstretched hand.  “G-go!  Take it!  Leave here, foul demoness!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Khione, spiteful as she is, gives a deep curtsey and a lethal smile before she turns to find G’raha already halfway down the hill.  For a moment, she considers simply calling a portal, but decides against it, certain that it would only cause more trouble than it’s worth.  With a sigh, she sets off at a gentle sprint, careful not to let any harm come to the precious flowers in her possession.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All done!” she chirps as she comes up next to him, raising the bouquet cradled in the crook of her arm.  “Told you I could handle it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>G’raha blinks at her, surprised, but smiles broadly, his ears wiggling.  By the Star, Khione gets hit with the sudden urge to reach up and stroke one of those ears.  They look so silky, and she’s not so proud that she can’t admit that she finds hi— them fascinating.  Thankfully, they reach the Seventh Heaven before she can act on her impulses, and instead, she follows G’raha through to the Rising Stones behind.  Finally, </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally</span>
  </em>
  <span>, things can truly begin.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry for the wait, ladies and gents &lt;3 Life got a little crazy, so thank you for your patience!  Things will start to pick up soon, pinky promise!</p><p>Thank you for reading!  Stay tuned~</p><p>Shout out to all of the lovely people <a href="https://discord.gg/enabling-debauched-xivfic">Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched and Enabling Book Club</a> for their enthusiastic support and encouragement!  Come check it out if you want more awesome FFXIV fic, or are interested in writing FFXIV fic!</p><p>As always, feel free to leave a comment, or DM one of us!  We love hearing from you &lt;3</p><p>-Blue the Magpie</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Hades watches from the side of the room as the Scions and this newcomer attempt to cure the Warrior of Light. He closes his eyes in frustration. How can they not see that their efforts are futile, barely even slowing the damage. Hope blinds them, keeps them in the dark of the truth. The Warrior of Light is dying and they must begin to search elsewhere for the answer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This girl is a mystery as well. Of course the over-eager cat brings home a new plaything, what he cannot fathom is </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span>. His experience with the man from the First is that his actions are calculated, considered. But here is this stranger, attempting to help with little to no results even with the aid of Krile and Y’shtola. Apparently, it falls to him to lead them back to reality.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I applaud your efforts, useless as they have been.” He pushes himself off the wall he had been leaning against, observing from. “But, two things concern me. One,” Pointing at the newcomer, he meets her gaze. “Who is this stranger and why are we suddenly trusting them with your beloved hero's life? Second, obviously, this is not working and I think it’d be wise to return to this </span>
  <em>
    <span>Master Matoya</span>
  </em>
  <span> and force her to properly analyze the situation.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The united glare of the group turns to him, mistrust in their eyes. Returning his own, he continues. “Your vaunted hero is clearly getting worse rather than better and all the fretting in the world will not cure it. Furthermore, you let a complete stranger into your midst under the promise that they can assist with the problem at hand, but there has been no evidence of such. Additionally, you haven’t even begun to light a fire under the one person who might have </span>
  <em>
    <span>any </span>
  </em>
  <span>knowledge on such things, instead allowing her to push you out the door without any answers.” Sighing, he pinches the bridge of his nose. “It’s a wonder you can accomplish anything at all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of course, the former Exarch is the first to come to the defense of the stranger, smitten as he appears to be. “At least she’s trying something, what have you done besides sulk in your corner? Show us the fruits of your labors if you are so much better.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The fruits of all of our labors would benefit from you recognizing when your current plan has failed. Whether you like it or not, you must seek answers elsewhere.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stop arguing like children, boys.” Y’shtola steps in forcing them to break the mutual glare aimed at the other. “While I agree with Hades that we must take action, Sollielle is in no shape for travel right now. She’s weaker than ever and we haven’t found a proper way to relieve her symptoms even temporarily.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With a roll of his eyes, Hades snaps his fingers summoning a portal. “You either forget or refuse to accept that I am your ally and am here to offer my services. Transporting the hero is the least of our concerns at this time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Be that as it may, you weren’t there for our first meeting with Matoya. What makes you think that she could point us in the right direction?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Only that there doesn’t seem to be a greater expert on the knowledge of souls to exist on the Source. Furthermore, from what I gathered the old fool did her best to avoid properly helping you during your first visit. Surely one so learned in that area would have something that could assist us.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You have yet to meet a force so stubborn as Matoya.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s arguable. The hero is quite stubborn herself.” Unsure if he’s imagining things, Hades could swear he saw the corner of Y’shtola’s mouth rise at his quip. “Regardless, we won’t know if she’s useful until we force her to at least try to be. My suggestion as your goddess-appointed assistance is to return to this Matoya and demand whatever answers she may have.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There is silence in the room for a time as the Scions and their guest ponder my words, each one displaying their opinions so clearly in how their souls shift. Y’shtola’s is calm, unmoving as she thinks over the options, probably coming to the same conclusion as the former Ascian. Alisaie’s is rolling like the clouds that bring a storm, ever shifting and angry. It’s clear she does not like his presence and continues to see him as an intruder and threat. For the most part, the rest of the group appears to be a mix of those two. And then, of course, there’s the girl.  Her soul is a wall of blank, static noise, unreadable.  Distrusting but thoughtful, they realize that he has a point. His golden eyes sweep the room waiting for their answer when the boy steps forward to speak up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“As much as I am loath to admit it, I believe he’s right. We are running out of options and most importantly time. Presently, it seems that Matoya is our best and only hope of finding direction.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hades clasps his hands together theatrically with an audible clap. “Finally, the child appears to be becoming a young man. He sees the logic of what I speak. At this point, I have no reason to wish you and yours ill. Whatever ties I had to bring about the Ardor vanished as thoroughly as my host form once I had been smited by your hero.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, pardon us for being wary though.” Alphinaud interjects. “Based on this information, do we have any that are against us returning to the Dravanian Hinterlands with his help?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The teen’s gaze pans the room evaluating each of the Seventh Dawn’s reactions. Most stay silent, neutral. Some scowl but do not speak up. None suggest they do not go. With a subtle nod, he closes his azure eyes thinking for a moment before opening them once more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That settles it! Our destination is set: the Dravanian Hinterlands, specifically Matoya’s Cave.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Y’shtola smirks. “I’m sure she’ll be very pleased to see us again.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Khione remains silent, turning her attention back to the Warrior of Light.  The elezen appears stabilized for the time being, or at least enough to travel to the old hag’s cave.  The briefest flash of concern flashes through her eyes, a wisp of smoke-like emotion that dissipates as quickly as it appears.  No, she had not accounted for this, to be dragged into the presence of yet another soul-sensitive individual.  She prays that the enchantments hold.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The group shuffles together in a tight huddle around where the Warrior lies, some more wary than others, to prepare for transport. With a simple, sharp snap of his fingers Hades causes the walls of the Rising Stones to shift and melt away in purple aether before that too fades to reveal the alcove just outside Matoya’s abode. Assessing the area and after feeling confident no danger is present, he pointedly looks to the boy who would be the leader to show the way. He seems to have gotten the hint because he knocks on the nearby stone wall and after some finagling and loud, frustrated talking an entrance appears. Alphinaud beckons to the rest of the group and one by one they each enter the musty home of the sorceress.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It is a dark, dank place that quite frankly smells strange causing Hades face to distort in displeasure. There’s a short pseudo-hallway in the cave that leads to a larger alcove where a very elderly woman stands at a table staring at a book that lies open upon it. Various poroggos wander the room maintaining it’s current state of this woman’s version of cleanliness. He evaluates her soul, aurum eyes piercing her being. It’s unusually calm, as if the eye of a storm. While most people’s, no matter how complete, are in constant movement, Matoya’s is rather still, only flickering occasionally. The sorceress addresses them without looking up from her reading, nose still firmly in the tome.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ve returned. Haven’t you pestered me enough over the course of my long life?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Y’shtola steps forward and addresses her master. “I don’t believe you’ll ever have had enough pestering as long as you continue to be wiser than the rest of us.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matoya squints at her pupil and quirks an eyebrow. “Flattery doesn’t suit you dear. What do you want?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The Warrior of Light, Sollielle, her condition has worsened and we believe you are our best chance to find answers or at least direction to search for such.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The elder’s mouth twists in thought, evaluating Y’shtola’s words before shifting her gaze to the person in question. Wizened eyes peer at Sollielle, searching, attempting to perceive evidence not visible to most. Her face does not betray if she finds anything though, stoic as ever. Silence lies steadily for a few moments before finally she speaks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re not wrong. Her soul is threatening to fade as we speak. It struggles to shine at all anymore. The pieces torn from it left a gaping maw where what remains threatens to collapse into, as if a faded echo of a dying star.” She hums, right hand on her chin as she thinks. “I might have something that could help.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>This absurd woman better have something that can help</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Hades thinks as he observes her interactions with the Scions. Unimpressed by her temperament, he has serious doubts now having met the esteemed Master Matoya. The woman is a closed book with a thorny exterior it seems; unwilling to readily spill her secrets or knowledge. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matoya shuffles through the various books around the cave as she speaks aloud of ancient legend. “There had once been said that a bygone civilization once held the secrets of souls but is now lost in time. They had stored such knowledge in their most prestigious institutions but when the culture faded, so did its establishments.” Puttering to another stack of tomes, she continues. “Somewhere, if memory serves correctly, I had a book that mentioned the completion of souls in relation to such lost knowledge. I simply must find it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he watches the crone toss the offending and unwanted books casually to the side, Hades has a thought. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bygone civilization? Prestigious institutions? No, there’s no chance these sundered beings remembered us or how we once lived at all. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pauses, continuing to observe her as she maintains her monologue. “This fallen world knew secrets we can only dream of. Hence their vast understanding of such things. I suspect they could be the only ones that would have an answer to such a riddle presented to us.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A great city whose spires pierced the heavens as the legends say. Their library was home to a massive trove of knowledge. A place where study was expected and respected. All who dwelled within its walls pursued skills and expertise to maintain the prosperity of their people and lead them to a brighter future.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Spires? Library… could it be? The research on aetherial decay that had plagued us?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clearing his throat, he gathers the attention of the others. “I believe I know where the answer may lie.” Matoya stops her puttering about and waits for him to continue. “The place of eld you describe is my home, Amaurot. The library you mention is where we held our most prized research, but more specifically that of aetherial decay of a soul. Despite the eternal qualities of our unsundered souls, there had been a plague that spread, weakening such properties, essentially making what was once immortal, mortal.  I suspect this is the knowledge you are discussing and if that’s the case, the next place to search would be the source. Ironically, it does not reside on </span>
  <em>
    <span>the Source</span>
  </em>
  <span> but rather it’s shard, the First.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The female twin butts in with her usual drivel. “You don’t mean your recreation?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How very astute of you to remember one of my most proud works. If any remains, we may find clues there. Hopefully it hasn’t deteriorated since I left the realm when your hero eliminated my threat.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So what, we trust you to go gallivanting off to another shard, perhaps never to return, all on a whim?” Alisaie presses. “You would go where we cannot follow?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, of course. It’d be best if your well-respected hero is there as well. I imagine if I find answers, it’d be best she’s around to be treated as soon as possible. Unless you have another suggestion?” He quirks an eyebrow in challenge to the rest of the group. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I can go as well," Khione suddenly says, pushing herself off the wall on which she had been leaning.  She strolls to join the group by Matoya's table, her expression wise and serene beyond her young years.  "I can travel across the Rift."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This piques his interest. The mysterious young woman brought in by the resident royalty is not only supposedly an expert on souls in her own right, but also is capable of crossing the rift between worlds? An interesting development; one he’ll take advantage of if that means they can </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally</span>
  </em>
  <span> make progress on this mission. “Well, now I’m not going off on my own ‘on a whim’ as you say. I have a purpose and your newest dog can keep guard over my ever so untrustworthy self and your vaunted yet dying hero. Does that ease your concerns? Or must I do more to convince you that there is no other path before us? That there is, in fact, no other leads?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His gaze sweeps across the room, stopping briefly to meet each of the Scion’s eyes waiting for them to argue more as they stand in silence. It quickly becomes clear that as much as they do not like it, they see the problem as well. They simply do not have the time to argue, no other information to act upon. Refusing his assistance is a gamble upon which they would have to lay down their friend’s life, one which they very likely would lose. This is why he is unsurprised that after a short group meeting held huddled in a corner of the damp cave the boy steps forward with an annoyed facial expression.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Begrudgingly, he speaks. “Fine, Hades, we’ll try things your way.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A smirk appears on the former Ascian’s face as golden eyes blaze. “Excellent.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Whoa! It's been a hot minute since we've updated. That's 100% my (Quinn) bad. Hope it was worth the wait!! We're easing into the plot now and I think you guys will all enjoy where this goes &lt;3 </p>
<p>If you're enjoying the fic so far and are not already a member, do consider joining us in the <a href="https://discord.gg/enabling-debauched-xivfic">Book Club</a>! It's a wonderful place for readers and writers of fic alike!</p>
<p>As always comments are appreciated, even those of the ajkfldjs;afklsdaj;flk;ads variety! </p>
<p>Thank you for reading! :D</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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